Consort (Beyond Ontariese 6) (2 page)

Eagin twisted out of Indric’s grasp,
rubbing his throat as he coughed. “He’s my father too.”

Beyond caution or thoughts of
ramifications, Indric shoved Eagin backward so hard he crashed into
the doorframe. “He is nothing to you!” Another hard shove sent
Eagin back into the corridor, Indric half a step behind. “I
summoned you three days ago. Where the hell have you
been?”

An angry flush spread over Eagin’s
face and he slowly clenched his fists. “I got here as soon as I
could.”

Indric took a deep breath and drove
back the need to pummel his half-brother into a moaning, bloody
heap. Violence was an indulgence he could no longer afford. His
father had already sealed Eagin’s fate. “You’re too late. He
withdrew the Declaration of Legitimacy this morning. You’re once
again the bastard you were born.”

“
On what grounds?” Eagin
advanced, anger making the rings in his eyes flash with bronze
light. “He had to have cause.”

“
You’ve given him nothing
but cause for the past fifteen cycles,” Indric shouted, his
emotions raw and surging.

“
You’re bluffing.” When
Indric didn’t reply, Eagin grew bolder. “Everyone knows your seed
is so weak you’ll never produce a child. Father wouldn’t condemn
our bloodline to extinction.”

“
Get out!” Indric drew back
his fist, giving the fool one last chance to escape unharmed.
“You’re no longer welcome in my presence.”

Ignoring the directive, Eagin tried to
sidestep Indric and reenter the death chamber.

Indric blocked Eagin’s path then swung
for his face. The first blow jerked Eagin’s head to the side,
positioning his face perfectly for Indric’s next punch. Blood burst
from Eagin’s nose and a startled cry tore from his
throat.

Lost in a fog of rage and grief,
Indric swung again and again. The skin across his knuckles tore and
his body registered Eagin’s attempts to defend himself. Indric
welcomed the pain and continued his assault until Eagin lay
motionless at his feet. He started to follow him down, but someone
grabbed his arms from behind, forcing his surroundings back into
focus.

Three priests hovered in the doorway
to the death chamber, their disapproval unmistakable. A small crowd
of palace guards and servants had gathered in the corridor. Most
looked as supportive of Indric’s loss of control as the priests
looked shocked.

“
Release me,” he said in a
calm tone. The guard holding his arms immediately complied. “Throw
this piece of shit into the street and see that he is never again
admitted.”

“
Yes, Your Majesty.” The
guard motioned for one of the others to assist him and Eagin was
carried away.

Indric composed his expression then
turned to the head priest. “Make my father presentable. The elders
must bear witness to his passing.”

“
Of course, Sire. I’ll see
to it personally.”

The other two priests rushed after
their mentor, obviously anxious to help.

Indric watched from the doorway as
they surrounded the bed, allowing himself one last look at his
father’s pale face. Regardless of the pain clawing through Indric’s
chest, this was a mercy. After eleven agonizing cycles of
deterioration, Laif’s suffering was finally over. He was at rest.
His energy had passed beyond, joining with his mate’s in the higher
realm.

Using the thought to ease past the
pain, Indric was able to think again. Preparations must be made.
His father had ruled well and long. He was beloved by the people of
San Adrin. His funeral would draw dignitaries from all over the
galaxy. There was so much to accomplish, too much for Indric to
stand around licking his wounds.

He turned from his father’s chamber
and cleansed the stench of death from his lungs.

A red smear on the wall
drew his attention as he moved off down the hall. Eagin might have
deserved to be disinherited, but the bastard was right about one
thing. Thanks to Laif’s decision, if Indric couldn’t find a way to
father a son, one of the oldest and most powerful bloodlines on
Bilarri had just begun its descent into
extinction
.

Cinarra clasped the railing and
reminded herself to breathe. Betaul and Dravon faced off in the
tree-lined yard behind her small house, a cometball on the grass
between them. Though Dravon was thirteen and Betaul only ten, they
were exactly the same height. They were both dark-haired and
handsome, both highly intelligent and well educated. And both
desperately in need of a friend.

Betaul moved first. His kick sent the
ball arcing off to one side, a streak of white light following in
its wake. Dravon ran after the miniature comet, skillfully
maneuvering it back in the other direction. They seemed evenly
matched, both fast and agile.

“
How are they doing?”
Indric joined her on the covered patio and her heart reacted with
predictable flutters. They’d been friends for nine years and they’d
never so much as kissed, so why did her body persist with these
inappropriate reactions?

“
Remarkably well.” She
motioned toward the yard. “See for yourself. This was a really good
idea.”

“
I’m glad you approve.” He
moved up beside her and rested his hands on the rail, his tall body
shading hers from the glaring midday sun. “Dravon’s tutors are
impressed with his progress, but he’s so isolated at the
palace.”

It was the custom on Bilarri for the
princes of all four regions to spend time with the other regional
kings. This exposed them to every aspect of Bilarrian life,
creating more balanced rulers. Dravon was from the mountainous
region of Hautell with its massive fortified cities and sprawling
estates. The semi-nomadic existence of the San Adrin people must
seem very strange to the young prince.

She glanced at Indric then said,
“Betaul has always seemed more comfortable with adults than people
his own age. I’m really hoping he’ll connect with
Dravon.”

They watched the boys for a few
minutes in silence. Cinarra tried to appear relaxed, but her mind
was whirling, as it often was when Indric was around. She should be
used to entertaining royalty by now. Indric had visited regularly
since she’d been on Bilarri. He was always polite and attentive,
always the perfect gentleman, which frustrated her beyond
belief.

She’d come to Bilarri to ensure
Betaul’s safety and to figure out her role in this convoluted
universe. Her first objective had been far more successful than her
second. Betaul was safe. There was still a radical faction on
Ontariese, their homeworld, who thought Betaul’s genetic
alterations made him an abomination, unworthy of life. They were
called the New Reformation Sect or the NRS. The sect hadn’t
disbanded, but their leader’s death had left them without a clear
direction for all their hostility. Now they seemed like a group of
unfocused malcontents, cursing the status quo.

Besides, they believed Betaul died in
an explosion nine years ago. He was growing more independent every
day, less in need of a protector, which left her without a defined
role.

Indric reached over and squeezed her
hand. The casual touch sent heat spiraling up her arm and drew her
gaze back to his handsome face. His hair flowed past his shoulders
in silky waves. Golden strands threaded through the dark, creating
a subtle shimmer whenever he turned his head. A closely trimmed
beard accented his strong jawline and the bold slash of his high
cheek bones, while providing a frame for his sculpted lips. His
pupils were ringed in gold and tiny golden flecks speckled his
brown irises. Most Bilarrian eyes were ringed in red. Gold was
unique to San Adrin’s royal family.

Over simple white pants he wore a
sleeveless tunic heavily embroidered in gold. The style was
perfectly suited to the harsh, arid climate. Still, it wasn’t the
immaculate cut of his clothing but the regal bearing of the man
himself that announced to the world he was a king.

“
Are you all right?” His
voice was deep and unusually caressing. “You seem
distracted.”

“
I’m fine.” She slipped her
hand out from under his and put it in the pocket of her loose,
gauzy
k’fal
.
Irrigation and sun filtering had tamed the unforgiving landscape
within Camp Rabadah, but the capital city was still surrounded by
vast, sandy deserts. “Just worried about Betaul.”

“
He’s only seen the seasons
cycle ten times, but we both know he’s unusually mature for his
age. I’m sure he’ll rise to whatever challenge life decides to
throw his way.”

She nodded. “It’s my job to worry
about him. You can’t fault me for doing my job.”

He stroked her arm, his fingers
lingering against her skin. “I could never find fault with
you.”

“
Then you’re not trying
very hard.” She ignored the tingles stirred by his slightest touch
and motioned toward the yard. “Ask Betaul. He’ll be happy to list
my faults.”

“
You look flushed.” He
nodded toward the door leading into the house. “Let’s go
inside.”

Guards were discretely stationed at
each corner of the yard, so there really wasn’t a need to stand
there and watch the boys. They would likely bond faster with a
smaller audience anyway. At least that was her hope.

Indric opened the door and tension
gathered in the pit of her stomach. Her house was small and
unassuming, cozy even. She’d been a prisoner on Earth the majority
of her life, so anything without containment fields and continual
surveillance was sufficient for her needs. But Indric was King of
San Adrin, the second largest region on Bilarri. He was used to
magnificent palaces, lavishly furnished with every imaginable
luxury.

And yet he kept coming back to her
tiny house.

She took a step toward the doorway and
the cometball whizzed past her face slamming into the back of the
house. Her startled cry turned to a laugh as she reached down and
retrieved the stray ball.

“
Sorry,” Dravon called,
holding up his arms with obvious expectation.

Hoping the adrenaline rush would
increase her range, she took aim and threw as hard as she could.
The ball flew toward Dravon’s waiting hands then muffled popping
sounds drew her attention toward the high hedgerow on the left side
of the yard. Greenish balls of light arced toward the boys and
Cinarra screamed.

“
Get down!” one of the
guards shouted as Cinarra bolted toward the stairs leading to the
backyard.

Guards scattered in every direction,
some racing toward the boys, others sprinting toward the hedgerow.
Betaul dove for Dravon, arm extended, palm out, as if he could ward
off the projectile shower. One of the incandescent balls drilled
through his hand and Cinarra screamed even louder than Betaul.
Helpless despite her frantic pace, she watched in horror as another
ball burned into his calf. The rest of the shower sputtered out
harmlessly against the damp grass.

Indric caught up to her as she reached
the boys. One of the guards had already pulled Betaul off Dravon
and was attempting to minimize Betaul’s movements as he writhed,
mindless from the pain. Another guard quickly checked the prince
for injuries.

“
He’s clear,” Dravon’s
guard announced, so Cinarra focused entirely on Betaul.

“
You feel no pain.”
Indric’s voice washed over her with intoxicating heat and she
wasn’t surprised when Betaul stopped thrashing. He still cradled
his injured hand against his chest, but pain’s haze gradually
cleared from his bright green eyes.

“
How did he do that?”
Betaul sounded dazed.

“
It doesn’t matter.” She
smiled and brushed the hair back from his face. “Let me see your
hand. The pain is blocked, but the wound is still there.” Her
sister had warned her that Indric could influence people with his
voice. Still, she’d had no idea how easily or
completely
he could wield the power.
Would she have sensed the same strange tingling if he ever tried to
compel her?

Betaul unfolded his arm and held out
his hand. Cinarra fought hard to remain calm and keep her
expression gentle. A thumb-thick hole had been seared through the
boy’s palm. Someone gasped and another muttered something she
didn’t understand, but Betaul seemed oblivious to the seriousness
of his injuries.

Indric motioned to Dravon’s guard.
“Take him in the house and do not let him out of your
sight.”

“
Of course,
Sire.”

Cinarra guided Betaul’s hand into her
lap and placed her palm over his, close to but not touching his
charred flesh. It had been nine years since she used her abilities
to do anything other than communicate. The risk of discovery was
simply too great. Uncertainty twisted inside her, turning her belly
cold.

Indric wrapped his arm around her and
gently squeezed. “I can flash him to a healer. I know it’s been a
long time for you.”

“
No. I’ll do it.” She
accepted the comfort of Indric’s embrace and carefully channeled
energy into Betaul’s hand. Her skin tingled and warmed as a steady
stream flowed from the center of her chest, down her arm and into
the boy. She closed her eyes and allowed Mystic sight to reveal the
progress taking place beneath her palm. His tissue began to knit
and regenerate, drawing the outer edges of the wound closer and
closer until the newly formed biological fibers spanned the
opening. She continued the steady stream of energy until all that
remained of the wound was a slightly pink circle.